Cartman's Passion
by The Liverpudlian
Summary: Back to school... the problems start again. This time, however, it's more severe. Kyle's POV, Kyle/Cartman, Character Death. Chapter Nine: That Look
1. Eleventh Grade

Hey, guys. How are you doing? I'm finally ready with this, and finally uploading something again. Considering the facts that this is a multi-chaptered fic and also that I hate to write those, this upload is odd by me. But there I go ;)

In any case: I try to update every three days. At the moment I have finished chapter four, which will be up in 9 days then... I may take a break from those 3 days and extend it to four or five, but I try to go the 3-day-pace till the bitter end.

South Park doesn't belong to me , as you might have guessed. Some other "warnings" of those story:

1) Kyle's POV, the ICness is controversial, but Kyle is about 16 in here, so that should give me room to change him a bit.  
2) This revolves Kyle and therefore other pairings with him can also appear. The Kyman-part will have to wait, but it will most certainly come. ;)  
2) Character death. I'm not gonna say more.  
3) I don't really like it... but I'm satisfied with it, as I rarely like my work.  
4) Please read and enjoy. :)

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**Chapter One: ****Eleventh Grade**

After I shut the classroom door behind me, I saw the joyous sight of pre-class chaos taking place in front of me. The first day of eleventh grade didn't keep his promise, and I was not surprised: The same procedure as every year.

I rolled my eyes, smiling slightly at the immaturity of some of my classmates. Especially Craig caught my eye, though. He was neither throwing chalk through the classroom, nor scrawling doodles on the blackboard like he usually did. He sat quietly in his seat and cuddled with his new found love (sounds so faggy). Tweek and Craig were the first ones to admit their homosexuality in our grade and I vaguely wondered if there'll be a number three. Well, probably-

"Ow, fuck you, Token," I had to yell as I was pulled out of my thoughts by a piece of chalk hitting my head. I received a really not caring "Sorry" and just brushed it off quickly. This wasn't a day to get into fights with people, it was stressful enough as it was. I let my eyes wander around the room again and was soon confronted with Stan's beaming face. He stood by Wendy's desk with Kenny and looked at me.

"Hey dude," he greeted as usual.

I smiled and walked up to them, "Hey." I basically knew how his holidays were so that question wasn't necessary, "What's up?"

"Nothing really... school started again, it's a pain in the ass," he said in his usual Stan-manner.

"Yep," Kenny agreed shortly.

Wendy just rolled her eyes at their comments and remained silent. Personally, I didn't particularly like school either, but it wasn't too bad actually. I had a good life.

Looking around the classroom once again, I was trying to spot a potential new face. There was one... no, two, I saw. Two guys, didn't really look that nice, so I decided to search for more... abnormalities. And, indeed, I caught the glimpse of an abnormally unpleasant face. It was the one I had had a sparkle of hope to not see that day, but our lovely Abraham decided to get me again, not giving me the satisfaction.

Eric Cartman, the fatass. I sighed, what else could one do at the sight of him? Nobody really cared about him anymore, and well, nobody really cared that nobody cared about him. He seemed rather abandoned, a person, who seemed impossible to change, thus unsustainable. Like I said, I didn't care.

Being around him had just become too annoying, because he seemed to learn new insults every day and waisted his time expressing them... mostly to me, so I, Stan and Kenny had decided to give up on him for good, like anybody else. I think Kenny and Stan were still meeting him occasionally, though, out of habit – their problem.

Butters stood right next to his desk and chatted with him – not too surprising, actually. In fact, the interesting discovery lay in the fatass's hands: a camera. Not his beloved Wellington Bear one, no, the contrary, it looked quite expensive. What was he doing with it? He had liked to take pictures for his amusement when we were eight, I could recall, but he had stopped doing it after the penis-sucking-incident, whose name pretty much explains itself.

"Hey, Stan?" I said, regaining Stan's attention, "Do you know what Cartman is doing with that camera?"

"Uhm, yeah, actually," Stan answered. "He's gotten into photographing now," he explained with a slightly mocking undertone.

"Oh? Is he taking pictures of Butters at sleep again," I chuckled.

"No, he's photographing seriously. You remember in forth grade when he..." Stan paused and chuckled slightly, "...when he showed the class his photo collection with this one pic where he was sucking Butters's dick?"

I frowned, "Yeah, unfortunately I do." Disgusting, yet funny.

"Well he's taking real pictures now, like those boring ones before the last," Stan continued his explanation.

"Are you serious?" Wendy threw in, trying to sound confused, if not shocked.

"Yeah, why? What's wrong?" Stan looked at her.

"Nothing, just that photographing is art and Cartman likes it. Seems pretty strange to me," Wendy said. She had a point, Cartman was an intolerant dick and clearly had no hobbies that do not harm anybody... hadn't he?

Our conversation was disrupted by Mr. Churchill, our old history teacher from England, entering the classroom. I know, he had the perfect name for a history teacher and literally deified his historic namesake.

He'd taken a liking to Pip, 'the gentleman British person' in our class. It was rather annoying when they talked with those awkwardly posh accents.

"Good morning, class. I certainly hope, you all enjoyed you're summer and are eager to learn again, next test is in one week." – Oh, how everyone loved him.

And when it came to the Jews in World War II, he always wanted to know my opinion first. As if I was THE Jew. He pissed me off.

In the end, however, there was nothing I could change. Only thing to do was taking my usual seat between Stan and Clyde and listening to Mr. Churchill introducing our new topic – the Korean War. Fun.

"Man, the first periods of the year and already so much fucking homework," Stan sighed sitting down at the lunch table with me, Wendy and Kenny.

"Well what do you expect?" I asked, biting in my sandwich. Ugh, it tasted quite disgusting.

Stan thought for a second, "You're right, I guess, but still we-"

Stan stopped abruptly after hearing a silent clicking noise from his left. Stan, Kenny and I turned our heads into the direction it came from and therefore all of us looked right into Cartman's annoying face.

"What the fuck, Cartman? Don't take fucking pictures of us," I said. There it was again, I could sense it. Soon my people were going to be belittled.

"Fuck off, Jew. I do what I want," Cartman retorted calmly.

"Why are you running around with that fucking camera here anyway?" I actually felt I was in a good mood, in a too good mood to speak, let alone argue with Cartman...

"It's none of you're business, Jew," Cartman said a little more aggressively.

"Yes, it is, when you take pictures of me, you stupid fatass," …but it was unstoppable then. I could stick my good mood up Cartman's fat ass.

"Whatever, whatever, I do what I want," Cartman finished, to my surprise avoiding the argument, and turned on his heel to march away.

"Come on, dude, just drop it, okay?" Stan asked cautiously after a few seconds. I guess, he thought I was seething over him again, but I wasn't. Being around him a lot makes you immune to those kinds of situations.

I just sighed, "What a retard."

"Yeah, so... what do you do next weekend, dude?" Stan asked, seemingly eager to change the topic.

"Dude, I don't know, it's Monday," I answered, a little to loud. It seemed this typical Stan-question pissed me off more than the conversation with Cartman.

Stan flinched slightly but went on, "I know, but... there's a girl that kind of likes you and wants a date with you, and well, considering you never had a girlfriend we-"

"Why doesn't she ask me then?" I interrupted. I knew where this was going. They were probably just trying to talk me into a date with a pretty but incredibly stupid girl, which happened before.

Stan looked at Wendy helplessly. She shrugged.

"She thinks your gay, dude," Kenny answered my question.

I coughed up the last bit of the sandwich I just gulped. "What?" I could only ask after my coughing fit was over.

"She was gonna ask you, but first she came to us and asked if you're gay," Kenny explained further.

This was fucked up.

"So, what did you tell her?" Was I really interested in a date? No.

"We told her, we don't know," Kenny said. I couldn't believe it.

"What? You- You think I'm gay?" More importantly was: did I really look or act gay? This thought had never crossed my mind before, I was pretty shocked.

"No, no, dude, but you didn't have a girlfriend yet and never really... liked to talk about girls, you know," Stan said, quieting down a bit after noticing, that some people from a nearby table stared at us curiously.

I just looked at him. Why did I never have a girlfriend? I've had this one girl in 3rd grade, what was her name again? Did she even count? I guessed not.

"Dude," is everything I could say in response.

The three of them just stared at me with curious expressions. "So are you?" Wendy asked this time.

"No!" I shouted. I was not gay!

"That's retarded!" I liked girls, I liked pussy. I had never liked a guy. Okay, I had never liked a girl either, but still. I looked down at my tray, I suddenly wasn't so hungry anymore. Why couldn't the bell ring and free me from their accusing stares? This was fucked up... seriously.

"Dude, you can tell us, it's not a big deal," Stan then began in a almost comforting tone. I frowned at him and he retreated quickly.

In conclusion, I stood up and went out of the cafeteria without saying a word. I could feel the stares of the people who eavesdropped on our conversation and I definitely heard Kenny whispering to Stan, "He's definitely gay, dude."

I was not!

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**There it was. Please express your opinion through a review or PM or whatever. I'd love you for anything. Thanks for reading, like I said I will try to get C2 up in 3 days. That's May 13th 2:22 am (Central European Summer Time).**


	2. Friends

Alright, as promised, exactly three days later. This will go on and on, or at least so I hope xD I'm a horribly unreliable person, but I will do my best to keep this constant pace up as it isn't the fastest anyway.

After I say, that South Park doesn't belong to me, which is out of the way no, I'd like to thank all of you five (!) reviewers, may whoever you believe in bless your souls xD

Lastly, I might still warn you, that this chapter also falls under the category "Intruduction", so there's a lot of useless stuff in, that might become useless later, but I hope you **enjoy** it anyway **:)**

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**Chapter Two: Friends**

It bothered me the entire day, this gay thing. The courtesy of my friends to let half of South Park High's cafeteria witness our discussion didn't exactly make it easier, either.

The most embarrassing part, though, was in Italian class, as Ms. Cipolli introduced some Italian phrases and slang words. I thought it was quite interesting until she went on with "finocchio", the Italian slang term for a homosexual person, like me apparently.

A few smart ones of the class seemed to find it funny – me being depicted as "fennel" – but I could live with it, especially considering that, in reality, I was neither fennel, nor "fennel".

Perhaps the only bright spot of the school day was Wendy coming to me just ahead of last period and sort of apologizing... I thought it had been nice of her, although her expression had been too easy to read: She had only felt sorry for their volume, not for the actual topic. At least something.

I was really glad when the bell finally rang and I could take my walk home.

The school bus was broken. Yes, this sentence sounds incredibly stupid, but it was true and it upset quite a few students and parents, but the school didn't seem to care as much. It had apparently broken in the holidays, which would have actually given enough time to repair it, but as mentioned, the people in charge had been extremely caring about all of that, as expected of the glorious Mr Mackey and Principle Victoria, who had been put in charge after the controversial merger of South Park's Elementary and High School.

Also the school had never informed us about an accident or some other cause, and this way we were stuck with walking home. I had the feeling this could only happen in one of those stupid mountain towns.

The only thing they had told us was that the bus would work again on Wednesday.

"Dude, you sure you don't want to?" Stan tried for the third time.

"Nah, dude, I'll walk... thanks, though," I replied, brushing him off for the third time. Stan's car was smelly... and I had stuff to think about, which was best done on a long walk with fresh air.

"Kyle, if it's about what happened earlier... I'm sorry okay. It's just that we're kind of worried about you, you know... you're 17 now, and if there's something you need to come clean with, it's about time, I think," he explained. I, of course, knew what he meant, and the nice words he wrapped around the actual message didn't fool me.

"Stan, stop it, okay? I am not gay! If you don't want to believe me, that's too bad, but then leave me alone," I said vigorously, being sick of this. Stan was acting so small-minded. As much as I hated fighting with my best friend, I couldn't take him like that.

Stan sighed. God, I felt like a little child.

"Okay, fine, Kyle. You aren't gay, I believe you. So... will you go on the date?" Stan asked.

I remained silent, as my mind was going, 'Oh no, I should've seen that coming.'

"Kyle, please, you'll like her. If you like, me and Wendy can come, too, and we make it a double date, alright?"

Nothing had been alright, but it hadn't been like it would kill me. Maybe it was good to get a night out with friends... fuck it, I just couldn't say "no". Stan asking had always been something special. I often felt he knew me better than I knew myself, so he had to have a point, right?

I threw myself on my bed, feeling a bit tired. It was unusual for me to feel tired in the early afternoon, but I didn't think much of it, as the day hadn't been the best one of my existence.

Homework needed to be done first. Mother, Father and annoying self said so, it was just in my blood. I had always been the good boy, contrasting Ike, the little rebel.

In the end, it took me about an hour to get everything done, but after said 60 minutes, I could finally get online.

I had a chat friend from England, with whom I spent a lot of time chatting, which was the reason I had been so eager to get on my computer.

It was fun, something different from the usual life. She didn't judge me, and in conclusion I felt that bonds grow faster over the Internet, considering me and her really got along, helping each other out with advise from time to time and talking about things you rarely get to talk about in real life. Even with your Super Best Friend.

"_Hi,"_ I wrote, biting on a straw, which sometime before had become a habit of mine. My mum had chastised me once for using up a package of 50 straws in one week – a very hard week.

"_Hey, Kyle,"_ Misa – her name, quite obviously; not her real one, which she wouldn't tell me – replied.

"_How are you?"_ … was what followed. The usual introductory stuff, which was unnecessary and was yet always repeated.

"_Mi, god, I had a day..."_ I explained everything to her in slightest detail. Sometimes I had felt she got bored by me reciting every fucking day, but she always helped me somewhat, for which I loved her.

This was a much safer way of telling feelings, over the Internet. Through words, that could be checked and changed, rather than language that could be checked, but afterwards you always had to kick yourself for enabling possible misunderstandings.

"_So, that's it? Come on, Kyle, there are worse things..."_ She reacted to my day. The fascinating thing about her is that she could change my whole attitude with just one sentence. Nobody could do this kind of thing to me in real life.

She was bi-sexual, thus had worse experience at school – even though she was being homeschooled for one or two years. I didn't even know her age... something between 14 and 16, I figured.

To top it off she was pretty – bi AND pretty, everything a guy could want – but I didn't have any particular interest in her in that way. Long distance chat relationships... nothing for me.

"_Just make fun of them, creep them out xD Grab some dude's butt... and send me pictures!"_

She went on. Perverted girl – I was certainly not going to do that, but she had a point, a good one even.

I needed to show more confidence.

After my mom urged me to get off my computer, I was forced to settle with the merits of real life. I called Stan; I had no clue.

"Oh, hi, Kyle. I just wanted to call you, we need to do some shopping before we go on the date..."

I hated shopping.

"...and need to get you a new hair cut."

I thought my hair was fine.

So I replied, "Why?"

"The date! You don't want to go with the stuff you always wear, do you?" he asked, outraged by my nonchalant "Why".

"Uhm... Yes?" I answered, feeling a little confused at Stan's sudden care for clothes and hair. He hadn't been like this when he was eight...

"Don't you wanna impress her?" Stan thought he'd found the perfect question to convince me. The clear answer appeared to be 'YES, I do. Yes, yes, yes, of course'.

"No."

"Dude, it's your first date!" He really did want to help me, but was help really necessary?

"I don't care... if she likes me so much, she'll like me best when I look like always," I figured.

"You have no idea of girls, do you?" came another one of those question-tagged inquiries.

"I don't, but I won't change for her... especially because, firstly, I don't know her, and secondly, I neither care for her, nor want her or any other girl... at the moment!" I got carried away a little, clenching my hand around the phone.

"Alright, alright," Stan attempted to calm me down again. "Look, it's fine, you'll just come, that's the important thing. Tonight, 6 pm. We'll go to the movies and afterwards, we'll decide upon a restaurant. I'll pick you up at 5:30. It'll be great. Bye," Stan said really fast, leaving me virtually no time to reply.

He left me stunned for a bit, before I could progress the information.

"Important, that I come... Tonight, 6 pm... Tonight? 6 pm?" I said out loud. I felt Stan was crazy, that was in about 2 hours from then on. I had thought he set this up for the weekend... And then I remembered why... as I had arrived home earlier, I had heard that my mother had "convinced" the school to free me and all the other students, who had to take the bus, from class on Tuesday.

Pity, Tuesday was my favorite day.

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**Now then, that was chapter two, as always, I'm kindly asking you to review as it doesn't take long and is an easy and effective way to make me very happy. Thanks for reading, by the way. :)**

**Lastly I'm gonna say, that Kyle's chat friend is actually my chat friend, who is okay with me "using" her in this story xD Her pen-name here on FFN is ****Chocolate-SugarCube**. Love you, Misa ;)

**Next update is on May 16th, around 2:42 am (Central European Summer Time).  
**


	3. The Date

Here we are now, one day earlier, because I got bored :) If you like my story so far, you will hopefully be happy it is going into a direction now. The OC-character Misa by the way is not going to take an important role in the story, but even more she is supposed to give an interesting contrast of internet and real life friends. Believe me, I wouldn't let OCs into my story, if I didn't have a good reason. ;)

How much explaining left to do? None, right. Here ya go, **enjoy**, please. **:)**

**Warning: From now on, this story is M-rated!**

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**Chapter Three: The Date**

I coughed, as the second hand of my room's clock hit the ominous 12 over and over again. Five seconds later the 1, soon after the 2, the 3 and with that the minute hand slowly but surely made its way around the clock, eager to have pointed at every single small line that each symbolized another one of those 60 minutes.

I had a bad feeling about something.

"_You there?,"_ I was knocked out of my daydream by Windows Live Messenger's annoying ring tone.

"_Yeah, was just looking at the clock,"_ I wrote back, as if the clock would be at the other end of town.

"_For 20 minutes? Is there a naked girl on the clock-sheet? xD,"_ Misa put her finger on it and added a perverted comment as usual.

"_No... I have a bad feeling about something,"_ I began, unsure of how to explain it, as even _I_ didn't understand it.

"_Oh?"_

"_I have no idea why :( but I have to go now anyway, it's 5:30, Stan should be here soon,"_ I typed, realizing I didn't feel like chatting right now. Otherwise I would have probably stayed until Stan carried me out of my room.

"_Bleh, alright, hon. Have fun at the date anyway x3 Bye, luff you x3 ,"_ she said goodbye and showed her online-affection.

"_Bye, love you, too x3,"_ I sent the online-love back and signed off.

After I shut down the computer, I walked over to my bed and sat down. Why was I not feeling well? I certainly wasn't sick...

Shortly after, the door bell rang – 5:35 pm – and I slowly went downstairs, still anything but eager to meet my date.

"Kyle, let's go, we're late!" Stan said, grabbing my arm right after I had opened the door. I didn't object and just barely managed to close the door behind me with him dragging me to his car.

"Your car? I thought... what do you mean, we're late?" I wondered. We were supposed to meet at 6 pm and as far as I'm informed nobody had decided upon a movie already.

"Yes, we are, we have to set things up, I'll explain in the car," Stan just said and literally threw me into his car.

"Ow," I sounded my discomfort when I landed on the passenger's seat with my head first.

Stan got in, too, and started the engine after I rearranged my body parts.

"I have a problem..." Stan began. Oh, did he now?

"I can tell," I stated sarcastically, rubbing my head.

"...with Wendy," he went on after realizing, that I hadn't felt any instant pity for him.

"Well, explain, dude," I urged him on, annoyed at his attitude of revealing only little information until I inquired further.

"I don't know, it could be nothing... she's been strange to me lately, you know. She's called off dates, avoided me in school a bit and is just... different in her behaviour towards me," he finally unveiled the issue. I didn't really know what to make of it, he'd had problems with her too often to be genuinely serious about it. He was my best friend; I didn't care.

"So, what do you plan on doing about it?" I had to force myself to ask. I knew him too well to not know... When he was worried he always tried something naïve that wasn't gonna work anyway. He was too simple-minded in those things.

"Wendy's always there a bit earlier than necessary, so we just show up before her and eavesdrop on her conversation with Red, maybe she says something," Stan said enthusiastically. Like I said before, naïve and almost stupid in relationship-issues, my best friend.

I smiled, "Right... wait, Red?"

"Oh... never mind it, she's your date. Act surprised," Stan brushed the topic off.

"What? I... don't want to go on a date with her," I said. It was a new problem for Stan, fair enough, but not Red... she talked too much.

"Kyle, you agreed on a blind date and it _is_ still blind, okay? Let's focus on the real problem here," he went on with his 'problem'.

The date wasn't blind anymore... if a child plans to meet up with someone he met in a chat room and the police calls him before to tell him that his "friend" is a child molester, he's not going either. Undoubtedly, this was about the same.

"There is no real problem! You're just worrying about idiotic things. Wendy is a girl and girls do strange stuff out of reasons mankind cannot understand, but that doesn't mean she's gonna leave you, okay?" 'Wow,' I merely thought after that, I only get this pissed off tone when I'm really annoyed.

But really! A _girl_ doing strange stuff wasn't anything new, Stan had even known that at several points in time when _he_ told _me_ about how weird those – quote – 'tittie-creatures' are, but it had always been the same with him. Mr. Churchill had told us over and over again: "History mustn't be forgot."

"Like you know anything about girls, you never had one!" Oh, that did it, this wasn't going to end good.

"Oh please, like I need one, you told me everything about how much it sucks to have a girlfriend, so get rid of her and lead a carefree single life like me, for heaven's sake. I don't need a girl," I certainly got carried away a little there, but I also had a point. And this had nothing to do with being gay.

"Yes, because you're gay," he calmly stated. NO, for heaven's sake, I wasn't gay.

"God! No, Stan..." I should have really gotten mad at him, thrown things at him like a closeted homosexual would after being caught, I should have really shouted at him like a lunatic and stormed off like a crying child or even made an ironic comment that would equal an unwanted coming-out, but my rational mind got the better of me. Because it was Stan. It was Stan, my best friend.

"I got a little off the point, okay? I just wanted to say, that you complain too much about stuff, that will turn out okay anyway. There is no need to worry," the calm and prudent Kyle ended the fight.

Stan eyed me for a few moments and then agreed, "Yeah... you might be right, but I just don't wanna lose her."

In the end, I got Stan off the idea of trying to eavesdrop on the girls, but I didn't get him off the idea to hook me up with Red.

And so it came to the much anticipated double(-supposedly)-blind date between me, Stan, Wendy and the color of my hair.

In fact, the girl was comparable to my hair in a way. Mentally, I reacted the same way to her as most people do to my hair: 'Woah... wow, dude, that's... wow, man... woo, that's gotta be the... yeah... man, you need to get a haircut.'

"I know right," I know right, I know right... I've always thought it's 'I know, right?' or in the real world 'I agree' or something. Oddly enough, it was the most frequently used phrase by her and, oddlier enough, I could always hear that there was definitely no question mark at the end.

In the movie theater, I wasn't aware of the horrors awaiting me in the restaurant. There, it was my task to sit and watch. In South Park's only decent restaurant, Buca de Faggoncini, I couldn't hide anymore and had to face the evil.

"Hey, Red, you like the pizza? I think it's a little too less cheese on it," Wendy asked, far into the date, nibbling on a piece of her pizza.

"I know right, it's like, I ordered extra cheese, and these guys still put way too less on it," was Red's swift reply. I was surprised, how modern-teenage-girly a person could be.

"Wendy, why're you still going out with that purse? I had one of those like two years ago. It's way too girly, sweetie, you should try something cooler. I think you should get one of those new Prada ones in blue, they're totally in right now," she changed the topic surprisingly quick.

The purse was wrong. And my mind begged my mouth to kindly ask her whether she could, by any chance, shut her glossy trap again.

"Kyle, you're staring at Red all the time. Talk to her," Stan said a few minutes later, during a short period of silence. I turned my head slightly to shoot daggers at my best friend; he deserved it. Grinning at me in return, he probably thought I was just shy.

In reality, I was amazed by her stupidity, but how could anyone guess? She was pretty, I was male, she liked me, I was male.

"Uh..." I looked back at the female redhead, who was sitting on the opposite side of the table, next to Wendy.

"It's okay, I can see he likes me," she twinkled her eye at me. I coughed slightly in return of that... I wish I could say I coughed to cover up laughter, but it was just a regular cough. Honestly!

Unfortunately the cough gave Wendy and Stan the impression, that I was madly in love with her and the two of them giggled, whereas Red just smiled warmly at me.

It was a situation where I would've rather crawled under the table to suck Stan's dick than remain in this humiliating position. I was unbelievably misunderstood, always had been, but this was just fucked up.

Suddenly, Wendy's phone rang, which broke the awkwardness surrounding me.

"I'm sorry, guys," Wendy apologized, standing up. She didn't walk away at first, though, but motioned for Stan to come with her. He unfortunately got the lead and Wendy smiled at me, believing she had done a noble deed.

Then everything went a little too fast for me:  
The next thing I knew was, that Red switched sides of the table to sit next to me. She stared at me and held my arm. Hell, she even pulled on it slightly, how could I have not turned my head in her direction? The problem was that she wanted me to do so and before I could even think of mouthing 'Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom' she was all over me.

I had no idea if she really believed I liked her or if she just wanted to do whatever physical thing with me, but she certainly was into the kiss a little too much for my taste. Her tongue was in my mouth, for Abraham's sake! In my mouth! Red's tongue! Whereas the date had given me the impression, its sole purpose was to form annoying words of annoying sentences. No, it could also violate other tongues.

Her hands were dug into the green collar of my beloved orange jacked and with that, she didn't only harm my jacket, but also, she convinced me, that this was an awfully arousing situation. So, I returned her violation in a less violating way.

It felt nice... I mean, I was a teenager in puberty, she was a girl, and this was my first real kiss, at least the first one of this kind.

To make it short, I grew into it. Girls and their physical weapons... quite scary.

"Guys!" someone far, far away shouted.

"Guys!" What was that? Never mind.

"Guys, stop it!" It definitely became louder. Still: Never mind.

"Goddamn it, guys, break it up!" Now I had to care about the voice, because suddenly I felt a hand on my forehead. It was determined to yank me away from my suddenly oh so comfortable position.

Question now was, what would break first? Red's grip or my jacket? To make it short, it was my jacket. Luckily, though, Red was thrown off her trance right after she heard the ripping noise of the orange piece of clothing and let go, before more damage could be done.

"What?" she shouted at Stan, who still had his hand on her forehead as well.

In the meantime, I examined the damage, that was done to my jacket. The collar was extended pretty badly. It still functioned, but must have looked pretty weird. Gladly, I had three of those.

"Something terrible happened," Stan turned to look at me. Only then I saw Wendy crying in the background.

"Bebe Stevens is dead!"

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**Oh, drama in the end, isn't that exciting? Poor Kyle will have a lot to live through as it stands and this is just the beginning. In chapter four the real fun will start**.

**Please review! :) When the next update is going to be is unknown, this one came one day earlier as announced so expect the next one to be up in four days... don't count on it, though. We'll see. ;)**


	4. The Impact

Hey, readers. Here's the next chapter of my story. Don't wanna talk much. Please, **enjoy :)**

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**The Impact**

It was shocking. I was devastated, my mind stopped working, I loved Bebe so, what could life be without her?

Yes, a question that had to be asked, and the simple answer was: the same.

I actually didn't care for her, never had, and her death didn't touch me at all. Only Wendy was sincerely sad, Stan was sad because Wendy was, Red was... grabbing my ass.

Stan drove us all to Bebe's house, as whoever had called Wendy ordered. I was an idiot for imagining how she could have died. Mostly because I declared the hair-dryer-in-bathtub alternative the most likely one.

As we arrived at the Stevens' residence, however, it all turned out to be much worse than an accident or even a suicide. It had been quite bloody, we were told. I wouldn't have liked to see it anyway, I'm not the blood-liking type of person.

"What... happened?" Wendy asked Bebe's mother. Both of them were sobbing. Two women sobbing and trying to lead a serious conversation is no good set-up.

"They say she died... very slowly... and... painfully," Bebe's mum began, certainly finding it hard to say those words. "I wasn't here when it happened..."

Main suspect: Bebe's mother, of course. I didn't think she had anything to do with it, though, it must have been someone out to kill teenage girls. Maybe he'd get my new darling, too.

"She was... naked... maybe she was... raped," Bebe's mum went on. Raped in her own room? Sure, sure.

"Pst, Kyle," I heard somebody whisper, so I ignored the next shocking details Bebe's mum had to reveal.

"Kyle, come with me," the voice urged me to come with it. I, of course, knew, who it was and I followed her outside.

"What is it, Re-" I couldn't even ask one question before Red pushed me up against the wall. No, she wasn't sad at all.

"Let's go to my place," she offered.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. No. Simply, no.

"Uh... fine," I had answered, though, and the scary thing is that I don't even remember if I had known what she was up to. Maybe I had thought that we would have some tea and a nice conversation about purses and orange coats. Well that wasn't the case...

It's not like I did anything, anyway... she was doing everything, as I wasn't really focusing on it. All the time, I was thinking about this murder case, her jumping up and down on top of me not really disrupting my train of thoughts.

I couldn't change anything anyway, but it all felt a little strange. I didn't think that girls are literally found bloody naked in their room every day, let alone every week. It should have been a forest... or a lake, but her own posters-of-"hot"-film-stars covered room...?

And as my mind was pondering over the possible scenarios of Bebe's demise, my body was pondering completely different things... or more "pounding", for that matter. She didn't talk much and did most of the work, so I could just let it happen.

Afterwards then, I did feel a little bad... but _she_ did it. _She_ forced me to, what could I have done? I was a boy after all.

There was only one thing, that really bothered me. The fact that it was my first time... with someone I didn't love, someone who annoyed me. It was against my principles, but I decided that there were more important things at the moment, so I could go on with my life.

I didn't get home that night, courtesy of my orgasm and its tiring result. This turned out to be a bit of a problem, in fact.

Firstly there was my mother, who didn't take kindly to sleeping elsewhere without permission, at all.

Secondly there was Red's father, who specifically didn't take kindly to boys sleeping with his daughter.

"Get the fuck out of here and leave your filthy hands off my daughter!" he yelled at me about a thousand times, not hearing Red's "He's my boyfriend, dad, I wanted it"-explanations at all.

I was lucky to be able to dress before I was thrown out the front door. Red's apology was the last thing I remember, before the door was banged close, and the yells suddenly addressed Red herself.

I picked myself up from the ground and figured I should return home. A little later, however – I was just buttoning my pants –, another beloved voice sounded.

"Well, well, if it isn't our precious Jew returning from his filthy business."

To my dismay, I was neither deaf nor blind. There was no point in ignoring him then.

"What do you want, Cartman?" I inquired as my standard gambit.

He chuckled and there had been something threatening in these chuckles, therefore my eagerness for a conversation with him sank below zero.

Click.

"Fuck off, Cartman!" I certainly became angry after Cartman had taken a picture of me. "Put the camera away!"

"I'm sorry, Kahl... let's get back to what you said earlier, okay? Now, let's see, it was 'What do you want Cartman?', wasn't it?" he tried to provoke me even more. It worked.

"Get to the point, Cartman!" I shouted a little too loud. Despite my volume, he didn't flinch, but kept that deceitful smirk on his face.

Click.

"Ah! Cartman, whatever you did, you will tell me right now or you will have my fist up your ass," I let my anger out some more. I could tell he wanted this, but I couldn't help myself.

"Oh, I'm sure you'd like that, Kahl. But before you fist me, I might have to show you something," Cartman took a few pictures out of his coat pocket and eyed them.

"As you may or may not have noticed, Kahl, I've discovered a new hobby, photographing. A photographer's goal always is to get... interesting pictures. And I would say these..." he held them out to show me, "...fall under that category, don't you think?"

"Cartman!" I felt outraged. Even more, and I had thought it had been at its peak already, but as usual Cartman raised the bar another two inch.

"Right... don't you think Red's skin reflects the moonlight prettily?"

"Cartman, give me those pictures!"

And there we went again. It wasn't like I liked to hate Cartman, but this guy... he was so... ARGH!

"Oh, wait, Kahl. Wait, wait, now-"

"Goddamn it, Cartman, you have no right to-"

"I know, and you have no right to cut me off, Jew. Now, follow me on this one: If everything goes its natural way, I'm gonna post those pictures on Facebook and Myspace, make a slideshow for Youtube and of course show them around in school, right? But, Kahl, _you_ can change that," Cartman explained in his ridiculous verbosely speaking, of which he enjoyed every second because it angered me more and more.

"How?"

"Well, Kahl, I need something from you... well, more precisely, I need you to do something for me and-"

"What?" I bluntly interrupted his farce. I knew what he was going to say anyway, so I didn't exactly miss anything of Cartman's amazing rhetorical capability.

Cartman cleared his throat, not seeming to care that I cut him off, "Well, Kahl, this matter shan't be discussed outside, you can never know who listens, you see. Come to my house on Friday at 7 pm sharp. Oh, and tell your mother that you might stay the night at my house. See you in school tomorrow, Jew."

He took off after that, leaving me a bit stunned. His cheeks had flushed... he must have a very cheeky plan. I didn't try to get him to come back and explain calmer and more precise, why would I anyway?

Cartman had always been someone to wonder about, but this was odd nonetheless. Kyle doesn't do things like that, Kyle doesn't go to lard butt's house, especially not overnight, but then again Kyle had no choice... or had he?

I paused, when I reached my house's front door and thought this over...

I was in no trouble at all. I had had sex, and kind of regretted it, yes, but what the fuck could have happened to me if Cartman showed around some pictures?

'The guys will probably be proud of me, and leave me alone with their gay-nonsense,' I thought. This was a benefit, a huge one, not only because then Stan would act Stan-y towards me again.

'And the girls will already know, because I slept with the biggest chatterbox in all of Colorado,'

I was relieved after my conclusions. Cartman had nothing on me, meaning no sleepover.

"Phew, saved," I said out loud and opened the door.

"KYLE BROFLOVSKI! Where have you been?"

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**Thanks alot for reading :) And please review! Unfortunately I didn't get much reviews lately :( (except, of course, from Newey and the girl I included into the story. Thanks to you two) if you don't like the story, please tell me! That would help a lot, and also appreciation would really brighten my day up :)**

**Overall it's pretty fucked up, because my Traffic-Page (page to see how many hits your stories got) is not working for 5 days and shows '0' for everything. This leaves me unknowing how many actually read it, and, honestly, I'm a really accurate person and need to know how many were here. XD Oh, well. Thanks for listening to a part of my problems also XD  
**


	5. Reactions

Well, guys, hit me, bite me, do whatever. I took five months to update. Half of this chapter was written back in May XD then i lost interest and now it came back. You might not care, but new things in my life are: I'm 18 and have a drivers' license. So that's pretty awesome, but just a sidenote, really. So, I hope you care about the next chapter, so **please enjoy :)**

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**Chapter Five: Reactions**

Now, except for my mum, everything appeared to be cool for the moment, at least in my mind. I intended to spend a nice, calm and most importantly lazy Tuesday, but my plans were shattered early enough.

"KYLE BROFLOVSKI..." she had no idea how much I hated it, when she shouted my name like that, "...come downstairs right now, young man!"

So I went, what choice did I have? "Coming!"

It turned out that Officer Barbrady had called, asking for me to come to the police station for an interrogation. I asked myself why this was necessary, I had had nothing to do with Bebe's killing... I had just happened to be on a double date with Bebe's best friend, there wasn't more to it. 'Then again,' I thought, 'the police will (most likely) know what they're doing.'

"Oh, Kyle, how do you always get yourself into such messes?" my mum asked in the car as if I'd just been convicted for said murder. It was torture to be alone with her at the moment. Solely the word "always" could've made me flip out, but I figured flipping out would only make everything worse.

"I didn't mean to do anything, and I didn't do anything," I instead replied calmly. "Barbrady probably just wants to ask me some usual questions and I'm free to go, so don't worry."

I eyed my mom, whose eyes were glued on the road ahead. Hehe... she didn't believe me anyway.

"Kyle Broflovski, am I right?" a man asked me, his face too close to mine to be comfortable with it.

"Yes... sir," I was insecure. This man was not Officer Barbrady. Barbrady sat in the corner of the room, whistled a song and peeled a banana, not seeming to care about this interrogation as much.

"Well then, Kyle, you might ask yourself why we summoned you. You might ask yourself, what right we might have... is that the case?" he suddenly shouted in my face. During the first bit of his speech he seemed quiet and reasonable, after the small pause, however, he was rather scary and I couldn't help but but feel like in 'CSI: South Park'.

"Yes!" my answer shot out my mouth.

"Fair enough," he said calmly again. "Well, Kyle, my name is Lieutenant Matthews and I'm with the Park County Police. As you might have heard, a class-mate of yours, Bebe Stevens, was found dead in her home yesterday evening. I know where you were yesterday, so we can skip that part.

Am I right in saying that you knew the victim for quite some time?"

How professional... "Yes, sir, since kindergarten."

"Good. So I'm just gonna ask you: What do you make of it?"

He was shouting at me like a freak to ask me _that_ question?

"Uhm... I don't know, sir," I could only answer, there was nothing to make of it. It was odd overall and from any angle you looked at it.

"Kyle, do you know how she died?"

"No," I answered, eager to know.

"How old are you, Kyle? 16? 17? I could show you the crime scene photos, but I don't think, that would make any difference, so I'm just going to tell you: She was stabbed, Kyle. 27 times."

"Uh..." I uttered, rather shocked.

'Who would do this? Who hated her so much?,' were the questions haunting my mind in this very moment.

"That's not all. Her entire room was bloody. She was dragged around the room, and there is no apparent reason for that. We are not sure for how long she stayed alive, but we think she died around the 14th, 15th stab, so the killer most likely took pleasure from watching," Mr. Matthews went on. Why would anyone have bothered? Who would have bothered? It was a very intimidating thought to think of the pain she must have been in before she finally died.

"Now, Kyle, do you know anyone, who's capable of such a crime?" came his final question, or so I hoped.

I thought for a moment. What people do I knew, that would do such a thing? "No, I'm... sorry."

"It's alright, Kyle. Now, one more thing before you can go home. Do you know a girl by the name of Rebecca Tucker?"

Goddamn it.

"Yes, I do," I answered reluctantly. I didn't want to talk about her, not here, not everywhere.

"Alright, thank you, Kyle. You can go now," Lieutenant Matthews then surprisingly told me. I didn't know what to make of this, but I was glad I could go home for now.

When I arrived home, Misa wasn't online, so I decided to check my Facebook page. The days of me using it like a freak were long gone, and I was rarely using it at all recently... well, once, twice a day, but isn't that rare for a teenager nowadays?

"Nice one, dude!" Kenny had written on my page. Odd. But only after seeing that, I realized he wasn't the only one, posting such a weird message.

"I wish you the best, although it started in this hard time. :)," was Annie Polk's say. I didn't realize what they meant, I really didn't. But I found out. Scrolling down, under all those mysterious congratulations I saw that Red had written something. I read the little text she had written and stared blankly at it. Then I chuckled. She could be more teenage-girly after all.

Oh, and how much she loved me. She didn't tell me once before, she just had her way with me. Facebook, however, seemed to be the right place for it, as there she couldn't have sex with me.

School was such a place, as well, and that was where I would go tomorrow. I didn't like Red, but I did like the idea of liking her in school, and, for the moment, I was actually quiet happy to go there tomorrow. So I 'officially' confirmed her as my girlfriend by accepting our relationship on Facebook and was off for bed.

The next day in school indeed turned out to be of extremely interesting nature. Silence reigned upon the class rooms and sports fields, as the first two periods were covered by a memorial ceremony, where also a few classmates spoke.

In the break, however, the liveliness returned to the school grounds. It was oddly fascinating, and with that I don't mean how a heart-wrenching emotional struggle was shoved aside for a day, because that's what Bebe would have wanted, no. No, indeed, it was fascinating how many assholes we had in our school. I could even include myself for I haven't exactly felt that devestated over the past few hours, but even more so, it were all the girls who were supposedly befriended with the deceased blonde, who were happily chatting about this and that.

"Maybe it's for the best," I heard a girl say, I didn't know her, it was no-one from our former Elementary school class, but considering that virtually every girl in the grade had something to do with boy- and friend-magnet Bebe, it seemed rather disgusting nonetheless.

Other than a few remarks, the topic was rather non-existent when I was around, though, as there was something much more urgent to talk about.

"Way to go, Kyle." (twice) "Finally, you got one, Kyle. Good luck." "You're so cute together, you know? You're a perfect match." (three times) "I just love you two being together, you're just adorable." "Your first, huh? Well, congrats, already a real strike!" "Red couldn't stop talking about you! You know from what she told me I almost fell for you."

Smile. "Thanks."

"Liked her after all, huh..." was the first response I really cared about. I was in the hallway inbetween periods two and three and had just collected my stuff for the next lesson – Social Studies – from my locker, as these somewhat sullen words reached my ears.

I turned around and saw it was Stan, looking down at me rather gloomily. As I realized, he was not really happy to see me as usual, I immediately mentally retreated. "I..." was all I could manage to stammer.

"_You?_ I heard what _you_ did yesterday," he began calmly. "Since when are you that insensitive?"

I was actually quite shocked, although I should've known Stan couldn't like those news, as he's Wendy's boyfriend and for Wendy – and for any other sane human being, including me, to be honest – what me and Red did was just disgusting and a disgrace. Then again, not too many cared that it was, as it seemed, just two.

"I'm... I don't..." I didn't know what to answer... as if I could've known. There was no answer. 'Red did it!' would've probably made him punch me.

Gladly, however, this awkward face-off was soon over, as Stan strolled off after giving me another extra-disappointed look. And for the first time during this entire ordeal, I really, really wished I could go back in time.

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**Dun. Dun. Dun. Tell me what's wrong with this, please. I love you guys, but I love you more if you review, I promise I'll even reply. Actually, I should always reply, but I haven't... I will now XD Thanks for reading anyway. I should have regained my 'writing mood', so I hope, I'll get the chapter up in a couple of days. See you then!**


	6. A Day of Distress

And a fairly quick update from me... didn't think it would happen, but I can write again. I hope it stays, as I love writing so very much :) **Enjoy, please... :)**

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**Chapter Six: A Day of Distress**

For the next couple of days, I couldn't help but develop a little depression. The next day at school, I had approached Stan twice, but in both cases he had just looked at me like that again. Was he really angry at me? Did he really, truly care?

"_Well, you should know him, you're his best friend, right?" _Misa wrote me, referring to my problem.

"_But best friends usually don't get mad at each other and that happened now,"_ I replied. _"I think, it's just because he's Wendy's boyfriend, you know. She must be upset about it, so he is, too. This only means he cares about Wendy more than about me, big deal."_

"_So, stop worrying so much... and just wait, he'll forgive me,"_ she wrote and sent a quick _"you *"_ to correct her mistake.

"_I'm too awesome to have to be forgiven anything ;)"_

Usually I disliked people with as much confidence, but knowing her and how she is, it made me smile, _"You are."_

And as we continued chatting about this and that, the initial topic was forgotten. Done, but not at all close to being dusted.

The next morning, I woke up with a huge throbbing headache at 6:27 am, three minutes before my alarm clock would have gone off.

"God," I moaned, raising my right hand to hold my hurting head. I quickly deactivated my alarm clock, so it wouldn't cause my head to explode when it went off, and went over to my desk where I kept my aspirin. I had gotten those headaches often in previous times, so I kept them at hand.

I figured, I couldn't fall asleep with the pain anymore anyway and just decided to get up. A swift look at the calendar told me it was Friday. Tonight I'd had to go over to Cartman's, although I still wasn't totally sure whether I should go or not. Then again, I didn't like the idea of pictures of me having sex with that annoying redhead spreading around, simultaneously meaning that everyone in the neighborhood would have seen me naked. Ugh.

Ultimately, I would go there anyway, so thinking about it was really just a waste of time.

So, I grudgingly made my way to the bathroom, thinking over and over again about how much this day would suck.

I began stripping my clothes off and went on to brush my teeth. Oddly, the difficulty of having to brush the teeth _and_ take a shower brought me to the conclusion that brushing my teeth naked was in a way helpful, so I didn't back out of the shower. I hated showers. Over the last years, I've developed a bit of sheer hatred for a anything wet, that made contact with any part of my body except for my mouth. Maybe that was why I was never too committed to my new somewhat girlfriend Rebecca. She got very wet... right.

Nonetheless I went through with my morning routine and went back to my room to dress.

My heart, however, skipped a beat when I saw the window being open and the – despite being summer – fairly cold morning air rushing in and cooling my room down. Nobody was there, so my brief shock vanished away again, only to be slightly rekindled by the sight of a small piece of paper placed on a full set of clothes.

After closing the window and checking for anyone suspicious outside, I picked up the note.

It read:  
"Dear Kyle,  
excuse me for the short disruption in your morning routine. I helped myself to your wardrobe and picked your clothes for today. I suggest you wear them this evening.  
In anticipation, Eric Theodore Cartman"

I crumpled up the small note and threw it at the bin. It missed.

Growling, I sent the bin with a hard kick of my bare right foot in the opposite corner of the room, there was nothing in it anyway.

"Who does he think he is?" I mumbled under my breath, my anger obvious in my facial expression and in my previous violation of the bin.

Regardless of my anger, I put on the clothes Cartman prepositioned for me. To my surprise, it was all plain black. My only black pair of jeans, a plain black t-shirt, as well as a plain black jacket I never wore. Even a pair of black briefs lay there.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't considering to just ignore Cartman's invitation, but the thought of unwanted exhibitionism kicked that as forcefully in the back of my mind as my foot just had my bin.

"Ugh... pathetic, just pathetic," I commented, as I went on to put on the clothes, that fatass neatly placed on the bed for me. Inside, I was hating myself for this and Cartman knew it. All in all, it wouldn't have surprised me to see him jack off outside my window, being massively turned on by my self-hatred.

Finally ready for 'Men in Black III', I headed downstairs to get some breakfast.

"Now, what do you think was more important? The Battle of Stalingrad or the Allied invasion of the Normandy?" Mr. Churchill interrogated the class, observing me quite closely, I had the impression.

Needless to say that nobody raised their hands except for the regulars. Wendy, a boy I never talked to before called Dwight Partrington, and Cartman, who found history to be his only decent subject.

History really was the only class our old South Park Elementary school grade shared almost entirely. Mondays and Fridays. The very first and the very last class of the week. It was an odd schedule, really, but nothing bad, nothing bad at all.

"The Battle of Stalingrad," Cartman answered after Mr. Churchill called out his name.

The teacher motioned for the boy to carry on.

"Through a victory in Stalingrad, Germany would've likely defeated the Russians wholly and the war would have been reduced to a one-front war. Thus, it would've been much easier for Germany to hold off the Allies. Also, they would have reached their goal in winning 'Lebensraum im Osten'."

"Very good, Eric. Not perfect, but commendable," Mr. Churchill commented, seeming slightly impressed by the German at the end of Cartman's say.

And as the teacher went on and on about the Battle of Stalingrad, I merely observed the clock over the chalkboard, which came closer and closer to 3 pm, the time we'd finally be let out to enjoy – or not enjoy, in my case – the weekend.

I caught Cartman looking at me multiple times during the lessons, giving me a cheeky smile, which creeped me out to say the least. He'd already reminded me six times today not to be late, let alone forget or ignore it altogether. I always told him not to worry... "I won't."

He also looked particularly pleased with me wearing the clothes he himself selected for me. A personal victory for him, of course; I didn't really care,though, there were more important things and it wasn't _that_ much of a victory anyway.

Minutes later, the bell concluded the lesson and another "Don't forget tonight! 7 pm sharp" from Cartman made me even warier of what would happen in four hours time from then. As wary as I was, though, I was all the more curious, what he might have in store for me and as worrying as that might sound from me, even without the blackmailing, I'd pay him this visit out of pure curiosity.

"At... Cartman's?" my mum asked, somewhat irritated, after I confronted her with the place I'd be spending the initial night of this weekend.

"Right, we... have to do a school project together and want to get it finished early," I lied an explanation. Finishing school projects early might have been my thing, but definitely not Cartman's, but as my mum didn't know that, she accepted my answer.

Needless to say, she knew how Cartman was, has been and would always be, so she wasn't too fond of her son spending the night over there. Who would?

"But come home early tomorrow," she said, a worried look on her face, before turning around to go to the kitchen and reduce tonight's dinner to three portions.

It was already quarter to seven then and I decided to take off. I preferred to walk over there, needing some more time alone, I always need more time alone. There is never enough of that.

"I'm an idiot," I stated to myself, as I set foot on the pavement, hands and lower half of my face hidden in my raven-black jacket. My bright green hat concealed my hair from the unusually cold South Park summer air, as usual.

My eyes, being just about the only part of my face visible to a passer-by, were focused on the ground, where the first fallen leaves found their new home.

And into one of those, a certain person walked. The sound made me look up and soon my eyes identified Stan Marsh to be roaming the streets in the early evening. He had already spotted me and looked as surprised as I was.

"Hey," he merely greeted.

I didn't feel the need to respond, so I didn't, and he didn't look like he'd have wanted it anyway. So the both of us walked our ways, wherever his may have led. Mine certainly led to the house, I could already see in the near distance.

I checked my clock: 6:58 pm. Probably another victory for Cartman, me in fact being punctual. But then again my 'Jew blood' didn't really allow me to be late anyway, so he'd probably see my mere appearance as his victory, rather than my punctuality.

Slowly, I creeped up the driveway and rang the door bell. The door opened immediately; he had been waiting for me, of course.

"Good evening, Kyle," he greeted with the mock happiness of his.

I didn't bother to reply. I hadn't greeted Stan, so why would I have greeted him?

"Follow me upstairs." – It began.

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**Thanks again for also reading the sixth chapter of my story. I hope you'll state your opinion in a review, I'm certainly looking forward to it and reviews keep me going. So review, and I'm sure to update quicker. Regardless, I hope I'll get the seventh up as soon as possible :)**


	7. An Artist's Deal

Hey, here I go again. It's too late, I have to be in school in three and a half hours and haven't slept yet. Yay. Aren't I an idiot. Oh well, at least the chapter's finished. **Enjoy :)**

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**Chapter Seven: An Artist's Deal**

I frowned, as I stepped into the house.

It looked tidier than I'd have imagined, then again I didn't know much about Cartman and his mum anymore. I just didn't care.

His large legs carried him upstairs, a malicious smirk on his face, visible even through the back of his head. I frowned, as it made me think of history class. Whyever.

From all I remember, the living room hadn't changed much, so I followed Cartman upstairs.

"So, are you taking me to your secret laboratory?" I asked him, the silence getting on my nerves.

"If you like to call your room a secret laboratory," Cartman responded, not bothering to turn around, "then yes, I am, Kyle."

My frown grew slightly at that answer, but Cartman was just like always. No big differences seemingly, so I was used to it.

He indeed led me to his room and motioned for me to sit down on a chair, next to a desk, which was full of what I identified to be half-done assignments and discarded worksheets, "Now, Kyle... Tell me what you think."

I blankly stared at the boy, who looked down at me mightily while he asked. "Excuse me?" I queried in return, not prepared for such a question.

"What do you think, Kyle? What do you think we'll do now?" rephrasing his odd request, he carefully sat down on his exceptionally tidy bed, which looked rather lonesome in an all in all messy room.

"Don't give me this shit, Cartman! You know fully well, that I have no idea about what you planned, I just want to see you destroy the pictures you've taken from me," I retorted to his, in my interpretation, very Cartman-ish effort to squeeze every tiny drop of irritation out of me.

"...and Red," Cartman added, smirking slightly and cocking his head to the side. Not much. But enough fucking much to make me furrow my brows and go nuts.

"DUDE!" I started, standing straight up, to which Cartman showed no reaction at first. He remained there, in his, admittedly rather cozy appearing, spot, and awaited my outburst. I shook, composing myself, and went on, "Either you tell me right _now_, what I am here for or I will... just... leave!"

Cartman snickered, staring at my outstretched index finger, "Well, by God, Kyle, or – if you prefer – by Jehovah, then leave."

I had opened my mouth already, to respond to his religious remark, but quickly closed it again, after the period had concluded his sentence, "Wait, what?"

"Leave, if you must. It's your choice, Kyle. So choose."

I thought about what he said, "You'd spread the pictures if I left."

"Maybe."

"Ugh..." I wanted to leave. But thinking about everything, I understood that nothing had changed, despite all the spoken words and our fight overall. It was like always, really. Me and Cartman, like we had always been. Always. Odd, really.

"So... alright. What did you want me here for, Cartman?" I forgot about our conversation's beginning and made a fresh start – more of a rotten one, really.

"Very well, then. For you to make me destroy the pictures of you and Red..." Cartman paused, pulling a face of disgust, but losing it again, rather quickly, "...coupling, you have to do one thing. One small, insignificant thing that won't harm you one tiny bit. It might be a little strange for you, but you'll get over it."

I sighed, "Which is?"

"Be my photo model."

…

…

…

I held my breath for an unknown period of time, to come to the conclusion that I need oxygen to think. Cartman stared at me. Awaiting... not seeming eager, though, just... awaiting. Interested, as if it wouldn't affect him. He'd have his fun either way.

I had to cough. Once and twice. Thrice and... the thing that comes after that. I wanted to avoid replying to his request. Cartman could've helped me by mentioning what kind of modeling he wanted me for, if I was supposed to be _wearing something_ in the pictures he wanted – if not, it wouldn't change a thing, really –, but of course he didn't. Obviously.

"Ye- Su- Well, I, uhm... Okay... if it's-" I stuttered until Cartman cut me off, now being able to speak all of a sudden.

"Don't worry, Kyle. 'No harm', I said, remember? I trust, you realize, that I know what harms you."

I must admit, hearing this out of Cartman's mouth slightly worried me, but if letting him take a few pictures of me was all I had to do to get out of this... my worries were soon silenced by "Let's get this over with!"-thoughts and I complied eventually, "Alright, Cartman. But no tricks."

Cartman clapped three times and snickered at my remark, "Kyle, coming from you, this sounds immensely naïve, but don't worry. 'No tricks'. Also, I will be the only one to look at these pictures, so don't worry about that either."

Following this, I had to think of the inevitable question, 'Why?'  
'Why the fuck would he do something like this? Is he...? Does he...? Will he...? _Why?_'

I suddenly heard the door to Cartman's room open and turned around, just to see Butters, wearing plain black clothes just like me, rushing in with a camera in his shaky hands.

"He-Here, Eric," he stuttered, eyeing me suspiciously... or did he? Suspicion might have been in there, but there also was something else. Something you don't see every day, something unusual, something almost... no. He didn't look at me long enough for me to able to say such things about how he looked at me. Why did I even care?

Cartman's eyes rested on me the entire time, he didn't look at Butters for one second, and neither did he respond to his words. He just clutched the camera and waited until Butters left the room again.

I had seen many odd things, and I had expected many odd things to happen when I had come there, but... _that_ definitely exceeded all of those by far.

"Okay then, Kyle," Cartman suddenly began, disrupting my train of thought and reminding me where I was and what was about to come, "I trust, you know that you will have to follow my orders for this to be successful."

"I do."

"Alrighty then. Lay down on the bed first of all, please," he said, undoubtedly sounding excited. He rose from his comfy position on the bed, walking over to the light switch. Under slightly dimmed light then, I sat down on the dark blue bed covers, kicked off my shoes and placed them beside the bed. Awkwardly swinging my legs on top of the comfortable piece of furniture to join my torso, I observed Cartman who had turned his back to me and was seemingly configuring his camera.

How was I supposed to position myself? No, 'positioning myself' sounds wrong.

"Relax, Kyle, I'll be right with you," Cartman suddenly said, his back still turned to me.

I frowned, "Uhm... Alright then." Cough. Awkward.

While Cartman took his time, I looked around the room a bit. It had really been a long time since I had set a foot in here. The walls were basically empty with two or three photographs – presumably his own – sporadically adorning dull white wallpaper.

"Okay," he suddenly stated, turning around to look at me. He licked his lips, sending shivers down my spine. However, before he gave the first instructions, he covered each of the room's four walls with large black curtains, that rested in the corners, "To finish the setting..." Then he turned to me. For good, this time. It began.

"Just lay down," he plainly ordered. "Just, like normal, like in bed. Consider my bed your bed."

"Uhm, alright." So, I did. I lay there in my enemy's bed, completely dressed in black, feeling rather suicidal... well, not really, but I felt that someone in this very room could turn homicidal, so it would basically be the same.

Cartman approached me, and without any restraint, leaned over me. "Sorry, Kyle, but you can't wear this hat on my pictures." So he yanked it off. My hat. Symbolically tearing down all of my safety, my security, any form of guard. Like an ancient city without city walls. Kyle without his hat.

"Hey!" I protested out of habit. I would always do when someone had removed my hat, but this time it was redundant, really.

"What? I'm the photographer, you do as I say and the pictures will be cool," he insisted, sounding somewhat juvenile.

"Just... get on with it!" And so he did.

He made me lie straight on the bed first, "Look like Stan just offered to suck your dick." I glared. Click, click, click. "Look sad..." I frowned. "Sadder." I tried to look depressed. Click, click, click.

"Kyle, Kyle, Kyle, like this, you're never gonna be a professional," Cartman stated, shaking his head in mock disapproval. He was enjoying himself.

"I don't want to be a pro-" Click. "-fe-" Click. "sio-" Click, click. "-nal!"

"That's the spirit!" Cartman encouraged, smiling, like I had rarely seen him smile before.

The entire photo session went by in the same fashion. I had to sit up, I had to lie on my stomach, head to the side, roll on the side, eyes to the ground. He made me keep my eyes open until tears appeared. Click. A seemingly thousand times.

"Take this rose. Put it on your chest. Right, good." Click.

"Put it in your mouth. And... and cross your legs. That's it." Click, click, click. Click.

"Take this knife." "Handle between your teeth." "Blade between your teeth."

And I let him photograph me. In every position, with every item. I stopped feeling awkward half-way through. Despite the apparent oddness – or fucked-uppedness – I became used to it.

"Take your shirt off," Cartman, however, suddenly commanded, recovering the awkwardness.

"Why?" I questioned, with a plain voice.

"Because I say so, or-" he began, but was stopped mid-threat.

"No, I don't, but... alright, wait, how about you destroy some of the pictures now... and then I will take my... shirt... off," I said, thinking while speaking and after that making a mental note to get myself beat up by Mike Tyson afterwards. Maybe he could set my mind straight again, even if it would cost me an ear or two.

Cartman sighed, understanding my offer. He narrowed his eyes, "Alright. You know, Kyle, I'm just gonna give them to you. Then you can jack off to them later, if you feel like it."

"Shut up, Cartman," I replied to his provocation, glaring at the subsequent snickers from the fat boy. Unperturbed, however, he made his way to his room's cupboard and pulled a folder out of one of its drawers. Putting it on the table, he searched it for them, "Alright, here we go."

The fat boy approached me with maybe twenty or more pictures, obviously of me and a certain redhead, "You can have all of them... If you don't believe me, you are invited to call your mum and your rabbi and search my house for more, you won't find any. Also, you can browse my computer and my flash drives, CDs, whatever... Neither did I ever intend to keep these for a long time, nor am I proud enough of them to actually _want_ to keep them."

I looked at him blankly, as he put the pictures in an envelope which he laid down on his nightstand, ready for me to pick up.

I frowned, "What... Why should I believe you?"

"Plainly because these pictures aren't art. They are dirt, simply a tool to blackmail you. That's all there is to it," he ensured me, believably, maybe too believably, but believably. "Now, off with the shirt."

"Uhm... okay then..." so I did as I was told and slipped my jet-black t-shirt off. Following this, I caught a glimpse of him licking his lips subtly as I threw my shirt away to join the envelope on the nightstand.

"Okay then..." and the second round began. It was all the same actually, with the small but mighty difference of my barechestedness, which was probably the reason that he took much longer than before, leaving me more than buzzing over his intentions. Although it actually all seemed oh so obvious...

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**Thanks for reading yet another chapter of my story. I appreciate it. Please review. I'm off to bed now, I guess. Goodnight to you all. :)**


	8. In the fat Lion's Den

Uhm xD It's like 8 1/2 months ago since I last updated this, so I had to read it up myself first, but it worked. I wanted to pick this story up again recently but could never bother so what made me do this was also Animegrl421's surprising review. Thanks for that =D xD **Enjoy :)**

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**Chapter Eight: In the (fat) Lion's Den**

"Oh my, Kyle, you're getting better and better," I heard Cartman say, well into our session. "We're gonna take a little break, but don't worry, Jew, I have more plans for you."

I looked up at him and felt mixed emotions. Relief, for one, surely, as I could finally rest now. And as I looked at the clock, pure shock, it had already passed 9:30 pm. I had been there for two and a half hours.

'Fuck this,' I thought to myself but just watched Cartman exit the room and finally felt able to relax. I had been tense all this time and my muscles hurt. Now, it was time to think... but I didn't care, I was too curious, so I reached for the envelope on the nightstand and took the pictures out to... well, to... look at, I guess. Whyever I felt that to be necessary.

"So, that was my first time, huh?" I asked myself aloud and flinched when I suddenly saw the shadow of a person in front of me. I was so scared that I threw the photos I was holding high in the air and retreated on the bed, where there unfortunately still rested a thorned rose. "Ow, fuck!"

"Oh, ge-geez, Kyle, d-did I startle you?" I was relieved to hear Butters's girly voice. Instead of... well, Cartman or... well, Bebe's murderer.

I managed a smile. "Don't worry, Butters..." I said warily, on-guard. This was Butters but it was not really the Butters I usually knew. Cheerful, bright, silly. No, he seemed even more insecure, black, the color Cartman obviously preferred in everything, and... again, I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Something weird.

"Oh, gee, K-Kyle, you're bleeding!" suddenly Butters noticed the damage the rose's thorn had done to the palm of my hand. It was not much, and only a tiny bit of blood, but this made me realize that this Butters was Butters after all.

"It's alright, don't-" but it was too late, Butters was already inspecting the "wound", but I roughly withdrew my hand from his grasp. He looked scared, but I wasn't angry at him, I just... wanted my hand to stay with me, "It's fine, Butters, it was just a thorn of this stupid rose... thankfully, the knife was not close by." I turned to look at the slender dagger on the nightstand, from which I had just taken the-

"Y-You're lucky, Kyle," I looked down at Butters who, by now, was kneeling on the floor, holding one of the few pictures I had dropped. "Red is so pretty."

I laughed sympathetically, "Don't worry, Butters, believe me, I'd let you have her if I could."

"W-What?" Butters looked up, surprised, startled and... hopeful. Oh dear.

"I can't, Butters, sorry. I just wanted to tell you that it was not as nice as it..." – I picked one of the fallen pictures up myself and eyed it; me and Red in... I believed, doggystyle position. I couldn't even remember doing that – "...may appear. In retrospect, I wish I hadn't done it."

The girly boy stared at me curiously, the black cap on his hat, apparently covering up his too non-black hair, for the first time catching my eye. And while I was at it, I thought I should just ask some questions myself.

"Butters, can I ask you something? Why are you here? What are you doing here?" I asked, gently pulling the picture he held out of his hands.

Butters looked down on the ground and stood up. "Just assisting him. These things are an awful lot of work," he answered in a calm voice, smiling, although the look in his baby-blue eyes had dramatically darkened.

Taken a little by surprise by that, I subconsciously backed off a little, "And... in what exactly? Just in photography?"

"Yes. But I shouldn't talk about it, if Eric heard, he'd be awfully sore at me." I wondered what the hell there could be going on with this boy. His "yes" sounded quiet and almost gloomy, and the following sentence sounded just worried, and being equipped with Butters's usual vocabulary, plain normal. 'What an odd person,' I thought to myself.

"W-Would you like a drink, Kyle?" he suddenly changed the topic and, because I was thirsty _and_ craved a few seconds alone, I nodded, adding "Coke, if possible."

"Sure, Kyle!" he smiled, cheerful again. 'Maybe he's bipolar,' I thought as he was exiting the room. But no... no, it had been something different, there hadn't been hints of depression. It was just... indescribably scary in a very Butters way. Plain odd.

Pushing those difficult thoughts in the back of my mind, I collected all the scattered photographs again and put them back in the envelope. I was feeling wary, and as I finally found time to suck up the blood from the little wound in my palm, I heard why. Suddenly my call phone started to vibrate madly in my pocket and I quickly and fidgety pulled it out to see who was calling. And I was pleasantly surprised: Stan.

"Hey, Stan," I greeted, attempting to sound nonchalant.

"Hi. Where are you?" the voice of my best friend asked. Heh. Like I was going to tell him, he'd call the mental hospital to come pick me up.

"Ju- uhm, just walking around some. Getting some fresh air, y'know?" I knew immediately that I failed in trying to sound like I'm telling the truth, but Stan didn't point it out.

"Still? In the dark?"

"Still. In the dark."

"Well... actually, I just called to tell you that Red called me. Call her back. But... why doesn't she have your number?" Stan revealed the truth about the call. 'Oh,' I sadly thought to myself. I had actually hoped he'd call to talk things over or better yet apologize, or... accept my apology.

"Uhm... I... don't know? I guess she didn't care much about the number..." I laughed desperately, trying to subtly show him that my relationship with Red was not such a big deal as he thought it would be. He wouldn't listen to me if I told him directly in any case. Maybe he'd understand like that.

"Oh well, whatever, it's none of my business anyway, goodbye." Click. God, this fucking guy. I knew Wendy was the only reason he didn't talk to me anymore. Only her, because she was upset. Understandably upset, true, but the problem was that Stan didn't even have a choice to understand me because in any topic where there's Wendy involved he hopelessly took her side and acts like a close-minded idiot, not even wanting to hear the other side's argument. Why, I didn't know, if it was just out of love, or if the sex got better. None of my concern anyway. It was how it was.

Yet I wondered why he had wanted to know where I was, though. If he had called at my house first, he would have known from my mother or... oh, right, she wasn't home. She was at this parents thing for Ike's elementary school class. That Red wanted to talk to me, I, by the way, forgot very quickly.

Suddenly the door opened and Cartman re-entered, a different camera in his hands, that's how much I could tell.

"Who've you been talking to, Jew?" he asked absent-mindedly, setting up our next and hopefully last, session.

"Stan," I answered truthfully, not seeing a useful purpose in lying or not telling. Would just cause extra trouble, whether relevant or not, it could only have a bad influence.

"Oh, he misses you? Or did you two lovebirds get off on phone together? Don't you get white stains on your clothes, Jew, or you will have to come back tomorrow."

Ignoring the sexual aspect of his statement, I filtered out another information. "What do you mean? I have the pictures now, you wouldn't be able to get me back here."

Cartman looked at me patiently and smiled, "Kyle, you don't have anything. You're in my house. If anybody _has_ anything, I have you," Cartman uttered with a content smile on his face. "Alright, I'm ready, shall we?"

"Sure." The faster it was going to be over, the better.

"Just... for this last shoot I will have to ask you to strip down to your boxers," Cartman suddenly mentioned, as if it were only a side note.

"...E-Excuse me?" I sought confirmation. "This was not part of our agreement, Cartman!"

He didn't even look at me when he replied, "We said I wouldn't take pictures that would harm you. These pictures will never harm you in any way. Firstly, because I will be the only person seeing them and secondly... because every girl to ever see them would instantly fall for you. Or, more accurately, for my photographing skills. And that's a good thing, unless you're a fag."

I frowned, "Can I see them?" Did I even want to?

"No," Cartman said, cocking his camera. Yes, then I did want to see them.

"What do you mean?" Click. I began to get angry but that just made him take more pictures.

"Stay on the bed, Jew," he said at my attempt at standing up and shoved me back. "You can't see them, they're my propertah."

"They are not. They're off..." Click. "...me. STOP THAT!" Click. I was losing my temper, now of all times, wondering why I hadn't much earlier. There must've been something seriously wrong with me. But then I finally reacted as I should... or, maybe not should, but as I usually do.

Cartman beamed down at me, rapidly taking more and more pictures. "Now you're talkin' to me, baby! That, I like! Keep it coming," he said in a Spanish accent.

"Shut up, you fucking idiot! I'm going now," I stood up successfully, that was enough for me. I reached for my shirt, but before I could leave the room, a fat hand pulled me back by my wrist. I landed in Cartman's arms and felt... weird. He looked straight in my eyes, "Look, Jew. I like temper, but that doesn't mean you can leave. You can't leave without permission."

"Fuck off," I shoved Cartman away from me and he fell to the ground. So I just took the envelope off the nightstand and left the room, while putting on my shirt. I was going to leave then, of course I was, what was I doing there anyway? As I walked down the steps I noticed I left my shoes upstairs, and I didn't care, who needs shoes? But the problem was that when I was about to grab the door handle I felt an arm reach around me to pull me back. The only thing I can remember from then on was a hand holding a cloth in front of my face. It was moist. And everything went black.

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**Sort of a cliffhanger I suppose. From now on I will write in the present tense, because writing 1st person in past tense pisses me off. To not reupload everything I just make it that Kyle told this all as a flashback, while he's passed out (Yes, Kyle can do that, he's Kyle, he can do awesome things like tell stories when he's asleep). If you have a problem with that, voice it. If you don't voice it anyway, 'cause I love reviews. =D**

**Edit: I forgot to mention that the quote "Now you're talkin' to me, baby! That, I like! Keep it coming," comes from the movie Scarface, which Cartman likes. And I love it, too :)**


	9. That Look

Hello, everyone! As I said in the last chapter, I will write in present tense now! But you know what? Screw it! I will not. And you know why? 'Cause it sounds crappy, and doesn't work xD I stuck to past tense and I'm happy with it. And everybody who voiced their opinion in support of the tense-change (no-one) and everybody who was against it (no-one) can kiss my ass and kindly fuck off. Woo, swearing without offending anyone! =D Anyway xD **Enjoy ;)**

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**Chapter Nine: That Look**

Slowly, I awoke, realizing at first that I was alive and, at first feel, quite okay. But where was I even? My eyelids were so heavy. 'God', I thought as I felt for any clues. It was soft, felt like a bed, so I moved a hand up to my head to rub my eyes and free them of their lethargy.

"Sleep well, Jew?" I heard someone say in an amused tone. God, Cartman, why did he have to be there?

"Shut up," I muttered in response, as I finally managed to open my eyes... and what I saw I didn't like, "Dude!" I was clad in my boxers, only them, and then I realized that he must have taken pictures of me while I was asleep. I was in his room, too, that was not where I had lost consciousness!

"Hm?" Cartman sat on a chair at his desk, fiddling with a folder.

"What did you do to me, Cartman?" I asked, sitting up, though still feeling somewhat physically powerless. As I sat upright, I felt wet hair hit my face and the back of my neck.

"Nothing that you have any right to be angry about," Cartman answered indifferently. He seemed sure of his cause, he didn't seem like he was lying. Stupid deal, I should've killed him right then! I certainly felt like it...

"Then why is my hair wet?" I asked, matter-of-factly yet maintaining the angriest tone I could manage.

"Kyle, why would I tell you? You don't have to know, believe me. If you knew, you would shrug and go home, you wouldn't the fuck care about it. And that is what I advice you to do now. You're not a prisoner here, go home... or do you want to spend a second night, my bestest buddy of all time?" I looked at Cartman with contempt while he gave his speech and never believed him that I wouldn't even care about what he did. Mainly because my hair was wet... why had he made me wet? For one of his pictures? It had probably made me a better 'model'. An asleep model. Ugh.

I shook with disgust as I stood up. I was cold, too. Cartman. "Can I at least dry it, before I have to go outside?"

For the first time, Cartman even looked at me properly, his eyes, however, were somewhat gentle, hazel, warm, "No. Get dressed and go home, you're free."

I glared at him, "What do you mean, I-"

But Cartman stood up quickly and... put his hand over my mouth to stop me from speaking, although I had already been cut off by his sudden movement. He pushed me back, against the closed door next to which the desk rested against the wall and looked at me, "Listen to me, Jew boy. Stop worrying about things that are not there to be worried about, okay? Worry about your girlfriend, worry about your boyfriend, worry about that whore Bebe that died, God-knows-how, okay? This is something that has no meaning to you, it's just my thing to worry about. I promise you that you will not suffer any emotional or physical harm through everything that has happened in the past fourteen hours. Now go on with your life. Fuck Red, suck Stan, whatever, I don't care. Goodbye, see ya on Monday."

I didn't feel like retorting anymore, I didn't feel like fighting at all, I just got dressed and left, happy to see that this time I was able to grab the door handle and leave the haunted house without being assaulted from behind. And while my wet hair, by now hidden under my green hat, still cooled my hot head, I couldn't stop thinking about Cartman's expression when he pushed me up against that incredibly hard door to speak to me. I remembered it all vividly and although it was definitely not a surprise about five minutes after it had happened, I remembered it more vividly than I had ever remembered anything. Why? Probably because the doorknob was forced in my back, I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, I could only look, look into Cartman's hazel eyes, giving me that look which I had already seen in Butters's bluer, duller ones. Though in the fat boy's eyes, it had looked much more... threatening. His eyes were naturally a lot darker than Butters's, with baby blue eyes it was hard to appear 'dark', but Cartman's seemed to be much deadlier, losing their natural warmth entirely. Cartman seemed so evil... that he could even drain the color of his eyes from all warmth they emitted, and it scared me gravely that my next thought didn't surprise me. Cartman had killed Bebe. Who else? It had been him, I knew it from then on. But to the police, I couldn't go, I couldn't explain to them that my suspicion was based on the look in his eyes, could I?

Meanwhile I came closer and closer to my house where my mother would have to be worried sick, or more accurately, worried 'angry', by now because of me, as it was already 11 am.

But as I turned the last corner, allowing me to see my house, I could see what I didn't quite want to see, and no, it wasn't Red. It was red and blue; and flashy, a police car.

"Jesus," I muttered, forgetting about Judaism for a moment, as I approached the scene. It was just one car, so I didn't expect anything big, they were probably just wanting to interrogate me. Suddenly I saw two policemen walk out of my house and to their cars.

"Wait," one said, looking in my direction. The rest he said, I couldn't understand but he pointed at me and the two men walked in my direction soon after.

One of them was African American and about my height, the other was a really tall white guy, probably about seven feet tall and looking rather scary because his girth was not quite seven feet, but also intimidatingly plenty. And I came under the impression that every square inch of him was... very hard.

I looked at them curiously and waited for them to speak. "Kyle Broflovski? We have to take you to the headquarters in Denver," the smaller of the two said.

"What? Why?" I asked, surprised, as I was mainly hoping to get some rest, especially considering my sleep, if you could even call it sleep, had tired me even more.

"Orders from Lieutenant Matthews, he also said you'd know him already," the same guy said again, the other didn't seem to talk too much. I was completely okay with that.

That Matthews weirdo, "I do."

"Good, could you please get in the car then? You're mother is informed about everything."

"Uhm..." I pondered for a second if I should go inside first to... wash, but no, I remembered, Cartman had done that already, "...sure."

As I was being led to the back of the cop car, I saw a figure sitting in the backseat that I knew, and when I got in, I recognized that figure as Sergeant Yates.

"Broflovski, we've met before," he greeted me with a sympathetic smile on his lips while stretching out his hand. I shook it.

"Hallo, yeah, we have," I merely agreed.

Yates was lower in rank than Matthews, yet high enough to not sit in the back of a police car, and that was what I found extremely peculiar about the situation. In addition to that came the fact that I had been told that I was being brought to headquarters in Denver, which is outside of Park County.

"Kyle, I'm not gonna be bullshittin' with you, okay?" he started while the African American police officer started the car. I nodded and looked at him, he held a photo in his left hand. God, how I hated photos.

"You know this girl?" Red. What was it now?

"Yes."

"She's dead."

I looked at him expressionlessly. I didn't know what to think, except for that Cartman was it. Of course he was, was he? No... No, I was sure he wasn't. He was with me... but I was unconscious. Yates seemed to spot the confusion in my eyes and asked, "You have a suspicion who it was, don't you?"

I held my breath, I felt ready to explode, but I didn't, sadly. Was I going to tell him the truth? Really? Or would I lie? Or would I explode first? But I didn't, "Yes."

I was brought to Denver. And Cartman followed suit, less voluntarily. I wondered whether they would be able to find any proof of my accusation. I wondered whether he'd be set free and take revenge on me. I wondered if it was him even. I wondered whether I did the right thing. And I wondered why I was so confused about it all and not one tiny bit of sadness arose in me at the knowledge of Red's death.

Lieutenant Matthews interrogated me, he seemed to act more gentle towards me than the first time we met. Still, I identified all the questions he asked me as normal standard questions, nothing related to the fact that I had actually voiced a suspicion. Basically the same questions the witnesses also have to face in the movies, like where I've been, what I've done at that time and all. And even the fact that I was at the house of the alleged perpetrator didn't seem to surprise my opposite, although Sergeant Yates who sat a little in the back, by the door of the interrogation room as an observer, seemed to almost die of shock when I said it.

But Matthews just nodded, having an entirely different attitude towards me than the first time we met. I was still hoping to never see him again.

"Kyle, okay, now let's get to the facts you deserve to know. I heard you were the deceased girl's boyfriend?" he asked me. Well, kind of, you know?

"Yes."

"So I'll ask you this time if you want to see the crime scene photos. It wasn't as extreme as with the Stevens girl, but she was stabbed as well. Also, she wasn't found in her room but in her house's garden. It's obvious that she was transported there after her death as there was no blood at the place where her body was found. We asked the entire neighborhood but nobody saw anything as it was done at night," the Lieutenant explained, leaving me somewhat awed. Two murders within less than five days. Could Cartman have really done that? And why? To... to photograph the corpses?

"Sir? I think I might know the motive... or at least part of it," I said immediately after I had thought of it.

"Oh? What is it, son?"

"Cartman got into photographing... so, maybe he took pictures of... you know, like, Bebe and Red dying. Maybe that's why they were both naked, too."

Matthews and Yates exchanged glances, something that scared me immediately, "Thank you, we'll look into it. If you want, you can go now," the police lieutenant suddenly seemed to have lost all of his gentle attitude towards me, and wanted to get this interrogation over with. He didn't even offer me to look at the crime scene photos, like he had said.

I looked at the two policemen insecurely and after a bit I stood up and left the room, "Goodbye."

"Have a nice day," Yates said to me before walking up to the lieutenant, which was the last thing I saw before the door fell shut. I was worried now, did I say something wrong? They would certainly not tell me.

"Kyle Broflovski? Your mother is here to pick you up," a female officer addressed me and pointed at my mother, standing in front of the information desk. She spotted me. She didn't look happy. I started to silently say a Hebrew prayer as I walked in her direction. May Jehovah be merciful.

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**Thanks for reading yet another chapter. The real Kyman part cannot be far now, so don't worry xD Please review, by the way, I like that :)**


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